


actions rather than words

by orphan_account



Series: ace laurens [1]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, M/M, Meet-Cute, except not so cute tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(From: Unknown Number)</p><p>
  <em>hi!! this is john laurens aka the cute guy u punched at the pride rally today</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	actions rather than words

**Author's Note:**

> if u told me two months ago i would be writing slash au fic about america’s founding fathers i would have laughed in ur face. guess that shows how much i know (i also know very little about the american education system and yet i keep writing fics about it. this is a Problem)
> 
> title is from The Letter sent to laurens from ham [cue “hey hey hey hey” from a winter’s ball]
> 
>  **edit:** there's been a lot of discourse lately re: whether cishet ace/aros belong in the lgbt+ community. i'm still working this out for myself as an ace who thought they were cishet for the longest time and found comfort in the lgbt+ online community. so just letting y'all know that some of the stuff in this fic may be considered problematic

The thing is, Alex isn’t normally a violent person. Passionate, maybe, and according to Burr he was “abrasive”, but Alex usually preferred to keep his conflicts verbal rather than physical.

 _Usually_ being the operative word here.

See, he’s been at this pride rally for a good few hours. The sun is hot and beating down on his back and even though he’s used to heat far worse than this back home, combined with the steady crush of people and the continually raised voices—well, it’d be enough to put anyone on edge.

The thing that’s _really_ bugging him, though, isn’t the heat or the crowd or the shouting or even the fact that Thomas Jefferson is standing not two feet away from Alex and is making his skin crawl—it’s the periodic proclamations of some self-righteous dickheads who keep yelling that “the A stands for Ally!” If Alex was in his right mind (which he isn’t) and if he could get the offending parties somewhere private (which he can’t), then maybe (certainly) he would’ve reasoned with them like the academic and aspiring politician he is.

As it is, the atmosphere is really starting to get on Alex’s nerves, and he tells this to Lafayette. “If I hear one more person shouting that the A stands for Ally, I’m gonna—”

“The A stands for Ally!” says some poor unfortunate bastard, and before Lafayette can react—though in all likelihood he wouldn’t have tried to stop Alex at all, probably would’ve egged him on—Alex is off like a shot, pushing his way back through the press of people until he corners the son of a bitch who’s still spouting his nonsense.

“Hey!” Alex shouts, but the noise of the crowd drowns his voice out. He shoulders his way closer to the kid; he couldn’t be older than Alex, some entitled rich boy with a rainbow painted across his cheek and a purple shirt emblazoned with PFLAG in block white lettering. “Hey!” Alex yells again, and this time the kid hears him, turns and makes eye contact and looks slightly confused. “The A doesn’t stand for _Ally_ , asshole, or have you not heard of asexuality?”

The kid rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows that’s just a _phase_ , it isn’t—”

And then several things happen at once.

Alex, not usually one for violence but happy to make an exception when he’s _extremely_ pissed off, reels back his arm in the beginning stage of throwing a punch. At that moment, the crowd surges forward, the kid stumbles and is pushed to the side by the crush of people, and, well—Alex’s fist has too much momentum to stop swinging now. It connects with the cheekbone of some guy—some guy Alex definitely did not mean to hit, he realises with horror—who staggers backwards, not swearing like Alex would have expected but instead clutching at his face with dazed confusion.

“Oh my God,” Alex says, mostly to himself. “Oh my God, here, lemme help—” He rushes to the guy’s side and loops one of his arms around his shoulder, supporting the stranger as Alex pushes his way through the crowd sideways. They emerge on the sidewalk and Alex hurries over to a nearby bus shelter where he gently deposits the guy on the bench and anxiously hovers in front of him. “I am _so sorry,_ ” he says, embarrassment colouring his voice and making it even more nasal (an occurrence which Jefferson has been more than happy to point out on numerous occasions). “I didn’t mean to hit you—there was this other guy, he was being a dick, but he must’ve gotten pushed out of the way because you were there instead, and God, I am _so sorry_ , I really didn’t mean to.”

The guy hasn’t said a word yet, is gingerly pressing against the blooming bruise on his cheek and over his eye, and oh, oh God, is that blood? He’s _bleeding_ , Christ, he’s bleeding because Alex hit him.

“Oh my God,” Alex says again, dropping to his knees and fetching a handkerchief from his pocket. He offers it to the guy, who takes it gratefully and finally makes eye contact with Alex as he does so.

Okay, wow. The guy’s kind of stupidly attractive. A spray of dark freckles over light brown skin and loose curls drifting over his forehead from where they’ve come loose of their ponytail—and yeah, okay, the guy’s still bleeding, Alex really shouldn’t be marvelling at how hot he is right now. He looks a little closer, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“I think—I think you might have a nosebleed. If you just tilt your head forward—”

“I know how to deal with a nosebleed, man,” the guy says, sounding amused, but tilts his head forward all the same. He dabs at the blood with Alex’s handkerchief. “You know,” he says conversationally, voice slightly muffled, “I’ve been punched in the face before, but only when I’ve deserved it.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Alex says again. The guy gives him a curious look and, well, Alex never has been one to keep his mouth shut. “There was this guy, he and some of his friends I think, they kept yelling that the ‘A stands for Ally’, and I mean, I tried to reason with him but he wouldn’t—why are you _laughing?_ ” Alex’s speech stops short because, sure enough, the guy is giggling into the handkerchief. “I don’t—what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really—I mean,” the guy says with a grin, “You just punched an asexual in the face for supposedly slurring asexuality. Best case of irony I’ve ever seen.”

“I—” Alex goes to apologise again but halts, because the guy is still grinning and looking right at Alex, and okay, eyes _that_ green shouldn’t be legally allowed within the United States (except maybe New Jersey. Everything’s legal in New Jersey, after all). He huffs out a laugh. “I guess it is kind of funny. I really am sorry though—now I feel like an even bigger dick.”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” the guy says, tilting his head back up to see if the nosebleed has stopped. It has. He dabs at the drying blood just above his upper lip. Alex has to look down at his shoes. “Even knights in shining armour have their off days.”

Alex looks at him then and their gazes catch. The guy is still smiling, and Alex realises with a sudden clarity that he’s punched the guy in the face and checked him out, but he doesn’t even know his name. He resists the urge to punch himself in the face. “I’m Alex Hamilton,” he says, sticking his hand out to shake. “Sophomore at Columbia. I don’t usually go around punching cute strangers at pride rallies, I promise.”

The guy laughs again and takes Alex’s hand. His fingers are calloused and warm. “John Laurens. I’m at Columbia too—but since I’m guessing you study Poli Sci, or something like it, I’m not really surprised our paths haven’t crossed before.” At Alex’s curious look, he continues. “Nursing major. Junior.” He drops the handkerchief into his lap and smiles. “So are you Poli Sci or what?”

Alex swallows. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Hey,” John says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say it was a _bad_ thing.” They fall into silence, which is unusual in itself for Alex—usually he can’t stop talking. But John doesn’t know that, so surely John doesn’t know that Alex’s stomach is currently playing host to a whole squadron of butterflies, who seem intent on Alex making a fool of himself in front of the hottest guy he’s seen in his life.

“Um, I guess I should get back to the rally,” he finds himself saying, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t normally leave you, but—it’s just, I organised it, so I should really—”

“Go, go, I’m fine,” John says, waving him off. “Go save the world, or whatever it is you Poli Sci majors do these days.” Alex rolls his eyes, but hesitates before leaving. He digs out a pen and notepaper from the same pocket he stashed his handkerchief and jots down his number, tearing it off and handing it to John.

“You said you’re fine, but I won’t believe you unless I see that for myself—so, um, text me later and tell me you’re not dead?” John takes the paper with a soft, tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Aye aye,” he says with a mock salute, glancing back up at Alex. “Don’t go punching any other unsuspecting people, mind you.”

“My dear Laurens, I would never,” Alex says, clutching at his chest, before dropping his hand and grinning. “See you round, John. Don’t forget to text!” He turns and heads back over to the rally, determined not to glance over his shoulder for one last look. When he reaches the crowd of people he once again pushes himself through them until he gets to the front, where Lafayette and Mulligan are still leading the charge.

“All good, _mon ami_?” Lafayette asks, and Alex smiles, thinking of John.

“Yeah, Laf,” he says. “All good.”

 

***

 

(From: Unknown Number)

_i rlly hope this is alex hamilton otherwise this is gonna be awkward_

_but_

_hi!! this is john laurens aka the cute guy u punched at the pride rally today_

_cute being ur words not mine btw_

_anyway this is me telling u that im Not Dead so yay!!_

_but also this is me asking u out on a date bc i kind of have a thing for knights in shining armour_

_how does 11am tomorrow at peggys sound??_

_p.s. i still have ur handkerchief if u need incentive to come_

 

(To: John)

_I’ll be there._

_P.S. Keep the handkerchief. Never know when you might need me again._

_*IT not me. I meant “it”._

_See you!_

[deleted draft] _ <3_

 

(From: John)

_< 3_

 

(To: John <3)

_< 3 <3_


End file.
